


Teach Me How Love Goes

by RoseByAnyOtherName17



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Dancing, Danger, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Original Character(s), Oblivious Derek, Propositions, Requited Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-23
Updated: 2018-06-23
Packaged: 2019-05-27 04:16:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15016469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoseByAnyOtherName17/pseuds/RoseByAnyOtherName17
Summary: Derek asks Stiles to have sex with him. Stiles says no, because he doesn't want to get his heart broken again. Somehow it happens anyways, but really, it's his own fault. He's the one who fell in love with Derek against despite knowing how bad an idea it was.





	Teach Me How Love Goes

**Author's Note:**

> This is something I've been working on for a few months, trying to figure out where it was going. Originally it was going to be a five plus one fic, but things never actually go the way I plan, it seems. Anyways, hope y'all enjoy! 
> 
> *No characters were emotionally scarred in the making of this story*

“We should have sex.”

 

It’s so completely unexpected that Stiles drops his glass of water and can only stare dumbly at Derek as it shatters across the floor. “What?”

 

“We should have sex,” Derek repeats. As if it’s that easy. As if he didn’t just monumentally fuck with Stiles’ world view. Because Stiles knows what the words mean, has even heard them before from others, but hearing them from Derek is like a whole other universe that shouldn’t even have the slightest snowball’s chance of existing.

 

Stiles has to look around, has to make sure that there is no one else in the room, even though Derek’s eyes are locked on him. “Do you even know what you’re saying right now?” he asks, cautiously stepping forward. “You’re not possessed, are you? Oh god, please tell me you aren’t possessed because that was such a bitch to take care of last time.” Sure, it hadn’t been Derek who was possessed, (“Werewolves can’t be possessed because, even if they’re one and the same, two entities already coexist,” Deaton’s voice echoed in his head) but getting that demon out of Lydia hadn’t been easy, especially not when it was taunting them all with secrets they had told her before, because out of everyone Lydia is the most trustworthy – and she refuses to take no for an answer.

 

Stiles hadn’t been able to look Scott in the eye for weeks.

 

“I’m not possessed.” Derek even laughs a little bit. “And I know exactly what I’m saying.”

 

“Okay,” Stiles says, running a hand through his hair. “Okay. But _why_ are you saying it?”

 

“Neither of us have gotten laid in awhile,” Derek responds. “You’re twenty-four and yet you reek of frustration almost constantly, more every day, and believe me when I say I’m the same. Ask any of the others, they’ll tell you.” Stiles didn’t have to ask; Malia kept him well informed on the matter and Liam teased him about it mercilessly when he was in earshot. “You want to, I want to, so why not?”

 

“You’ve never slept with a guy in all the time I’ve known you,” Stiles points out.

 

“They’re not usually my type.”

 

“Oh?”

 

“Most of them don’t like it when they’re pinned down, no matter how much they say they like it up the ass.”

 

Stiles has to close his eyes and force the image out of his head. “What makes you think I want something like that?” he asks anyways, knowing he shouldn’t but unable to stop.

 

“I’ve known you for a long time, Stiles.” There’s heat along his front now, and when he opens his eyes Derek is only a foot or so away, and subtly leaning closer. “You talk about sex like it’s your _religion_. I think I know what you like.”

 

The dark expression on Derek’s face _does_ things to Stiles, but he isn’t sixteen anymore, and he knows how to say no. So he raises a hand and gently pushes Derek’s chest until the other steps back. “Those aren’t good enough reasons to have sex,” he says quietly. He turns to gather his stuff and leave, but steps on a shard of glass and cracks it into two more pieces, so he cleans that first, careful of the edges. “I’ll see you,” he manages as he’s going for the door.

 

He doesn’t expect Derek to say anything else, but he does. “Stiles, I trust you.”

 

It’s enough to stop Stiles in his tracks, but only for a moment. “That isn’t the problem.” He doesn’t look back as he shuts the door, too afraid to see what Derek’s face might look like now that he’s walking away.

 

**

 

“Why are you and Derek being weird?”

 

Stiles feigns confusion. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” It’s true, mostly; he and Derek snarked back and forth the way they usually did, nitpicking at each other’s ideas until they had a real, solid one with no holes that somehow combined both. There is a shapeshifter of some sort in the preserve wreaking havoc on the late-summer campers. It’s all mostly harmless, just stolen food and collapsed tents, but there’s the concern that it will escalate and they need to talk to him/her/it to ensure that doesn’t happen.

 

Well. Derek suggested getting rid of it altogether, no questions asked, but he grudgingly agreed to tear its throat out only _after_ it disagreed with them. The ultra-durable punching bag and weight set that Stiles had gotten him for Christmas two years ago isn’t always enough for the guy.

 

“Neither of you looked at each other all night,” Scott says. “I know how much you like staring him down dude. You did it even when he was an alpha.”

 

“I think there’s a more pressing matter at hand than how much eye contact I made with Derek,” Stiles scoffs, but Scott has a point; Stiles _likes_ the looks shared with Derek, even when they’re irritated with each other.

 

“Come on, man. What’s going on?”

 

Stiles sighs. “You are sworn to secrecy. Nothing mentioned to the pack, to your mom, to my dad, to Deaton, to no one. Absolutely no words of this said to _anyone_ , understand?”

 

Scott mimes zipping his lips and gazes at Stiles expectantly.

 

Stiles groans. “He said we should have sex.”

 

Scott’s eyes widen. “Are you serious?”

 

Stiles nods once, eyes on the road. “I said no.”

 

Scott does a double take at that. “You said _no?_ ”

 

Stiles glances over once. “Uh, yeah?”

 

“Dude, you’ve been talking about sleeping with Derek since high school!”

 

“That’s not the point.” Stiles turns onto Scott’s street and parks in front of his apartment. “I’m not going to just fuck the guy, it isn’t – it isn’t right.”

 

“You slept with plenty of people in college.”

 

“Yeah, after Lydia broke up with me and I needed to get her out of my head before I went out of my mind.” Stiles turns to his friend. “It took me over a year to get through that, remember? The last thing I need is to sleep with Derek, because when he decides to end it…I won’t be able to handle that kind of heartache again.”

 

Scott stares, wide-eyed. “You’re in _love_ with _Derek?_ ”

 

“It’s not like I’ve been hiding it,” Stiles points out, thoroughly confused. “You really didn’t know?”

 

“It’s…hard to get a read on your emotions,” Scott admits. “I mean sure, you broadcast physically, which can be gross, but you basically have a lock on your feelings. No one knows what you’re feeling until you say it.”

 

Stiles doesn’t know what to make of that. “I thought Derek asked because he knew, because he thought I wouldn’t say no.”

 

“He’s not a complete douchebag,” Scott says consolingly. “He might like to get his claws into things sometimes, but he wouldn’t do that, especially not to you.” He clapped Stiles on the shoulder and got out of the car, leaving Stiles to think for a solid minute before driving away.

 

**

 

It’s an incubus in a club one town over. Scott and Malia are grinding pretty shamelessly on the dance floor, despite their insistence (for the last five years) that they aren’t really in a relationship. Stiles calls bullshit, because neither of them have slept with another person in all that time and they have a date night once a week. He sometimes wonders if it’s them being sensitive to him, but he doesn’t understand why they should care; he never really loved Malia, even at their best, and if he had, well, then it was years ago. He certainly isn’t holding onto that, and he’s happy for them.

 

Stiles himself is at the bar, holding a beer that has long since gone warm to look like he belongs. Lydia had promised to stay with him, but Jordan showed up as backup and of course they got distracted. If Stiles looks hard enough, he can catch a flash of her hair under the strobe lights, but he tries not to. He doesn’t love her anymore, but sometimes seeing her with Jordan reminds him of when he did, and when he watched her with others all those years ago. He doesn’t like the feeling.

 

Really, the only ones still keeping watch are himself, Derek and Liam, the latter visiting from college. Mason and Corey are here too, but they, like the others, are on the dance floor. Stiles doesn’t know why Scott thought it was a good idea to bring the entire pack to a club. They’d dealt with incubuses before, it isn’t a difficult thing to do, and he should’ve known that the couples would pair off within five minutes.

 

“Hey there, handsome,” a voice says to his right. Stiles turns to see a pair of bright brown eyes on a slender girl, no older than twenty at his best guess. She’s pretty, but she would have to _try_ to be seductive. _Not our target._

 

“What’s your name?” she asks, facing him fully from the stool next to him.

 

Stiles considers her for a moment. On one hand, Derek was right those few weeks ago when he said Stiles hadn’t been laid in awhile. But he really isn’t interested in that tonight, in a pretty face that he won’t remember in the morning. He tells her so gently.

 

She laughs. “I figured, you sitting here keeping an eye on your friends,” she says easily. “Designated driver, right?”

 

“Yeah,” Stiles agrees, because it’s the easiest thing to go with.

 

“You mind some company?”

 

“Sure.”

 

She signals the bartender, who looks her up and down with a doubtful expression. “Got an ID?”

 

“I just want a Coke,” she tells her. “I’m the youngest of my friends,” she adds to Stiles, “so I guess I’m in the same boat as you. Drinking isn’t all that fun for me anyways. You haven’t told me your name yet.”

 

“Stiles,” he answers. “Yourself?”

 

“Amelia,” she says, and shakes his hand. “I’m visiting my grandmother and brought my girlfriends with me to Nana’s big ranch house. We’ve been hiking a bunch but they got bored and made me come here with them so I could drive them home.”

 

“That’s a little unfair,” Stiles points out.

 

Amelia rolls her eyes. “I know, but what can you do when Nana practically shoves you out the door? I think she’s a little sick of us to be honest. Her only rule was that no one brings home a boy.”

 

“Sounds like a good woman to me.”

 

“Oh, she’s the best.”

 

Amelia does most of the talking, Stiles only having to prompt her every few minutes. She tells him about college, her major, her part time job as the receptionist for the counselling services there, and hardly asks him anything about himself. Stiles relaxes slowly, listening but still keeping an eye out for anything suspicious, and wonders how he’s supposed to get rid of her if shit goes down with the incubus.

 

It isn’t difficult. “Ooh,” she whispers, poking his shoulder. “Super hot guy coming toward you.”

 

Stiles doesn’t even have to turn around to know that it’s Derek, but he does anyway to check his expression. It’s the usual grumpiness, no sign of anything wrong, so Stiles shoots him a small smile and says to Amelia, “That’s just Derek, he’s driving the other car.”

 

“If I were a few years older I would totally hit that,” she says quickly and quietly while she still thinks he’s out of earshot, which Stiles thinks is funny considering who he is. “Though to be honest, I’d probably do you too.”

 

“Thank you?”

 

“We should start rounding up the kids, Stiles,” Derek says, looking once at Amelia and nodding before focusing on Stiles. “It’s getting a little bit…” he trails off, and Stiles realizes why. Scott and Malia are locked at the lips, Parrish has Lydia up against a wall and Corey and Mason are nowhere to be seen. Stiles would bet the bathroom if Corey didn’t have the power to turn invisible and take Mason with him, and that is definitely not an image he likes having in his head.

 

“Alright.” Stiles looks back at Amelia. “It was good meeting you. Will you be okay to get your friends home?”

 

She shoots him a _look._ “This isn’t my first rodeo. I’ve got them.” She pats his shoulder and beams at Derek. “Have a good night!” In no time she melts into the crowd.

 

Derek’s face clears then, and _there_ is the expression. “It’s here,” he murmurs.

 

Stiles sighs. “Where?”

 

Derek pulls him up by the wrist in lieu of responding and proceeds to tug him into the throng of people, moving through them until they’re just about dead center. Stiles can’t see the others from here anymore. “What are you doing?” he hisses when Derek turns him around and puts his hands on his hips.

 

“Blend in,” Derek whispers, lips brushing the shell of his ear. He pulls Stiles back against his body and begins to move, doing this sinuous body roll that makes Stiles’ dick twitch with interest immediately. “I’ll point him out to you.”

 

Stiles dances too, falling in rhythm with far too much ease. He tries to ignore Derek pressed against his back and scans the crowd around them instead, searching for a face that is too attractive to be natural. He doesn’t see anything, but that doesn’t mean anything to him; he’s in love. The first time they had encountered something like this, he and Lydia were still together and the thing had looked utterly _normal_.

 

“To the left,” Derek says against his ear, “about ten feet away, dancing with three girls and a guy. Most of the people in here smell like sex, but that’s _all_ he smells like. No sweat, no nerves, no adrenaline, just sex. That’s him.”

 

Stiles sees him. “What do we do?”

 

“Lydia is going to ask him to leave with her in a minute. We’ll go outside through the front and work our way around the back.”

 

Lydia is still nowhere to be seen. “When?”

 

“Give her time.”

 

Stiles hopes she gets to the incubus soon; he’s starting to harden in his jeans and he can feel Derek’s own erection pressing into his ass with every roll of his hips. Derek isn’t even trying to hide it, instead turning his face into Stiles’ hair and sighing before burying his nose in his neck. Stiles tilts his head unthinkingly, giving Derek room to put his teeth in his skin and _suck._

 

“Derek—” he warns.

 

“Shh,” Derek cuts him off, and slips a hand underneath his shirt to spread across his stomach. Stiles bites back a groan.

 

_You can’t let him do this._ Stiles needs to turn around and push Derek away, but the incubus would notice, and in any case Lydia is just sliding into its space, wrapping her arms around its neck and beginning to dance. Stiles ignores Derek’s thumb pressing up against his nipple and watches Lydia move with the incubus. When she tilts her mouth to its ear, it nods and smirks, and follows her to the door.

 

“ _Now_.”

 

Derek licks a line up to his jaw, and steps back. “Come on.”

 

Stiles can see Scott and Malia making their way out too now, and when they get outside Corey and Mason briefly appear before dissipating into thin air again. They make their way to the back, where Lydia is staring up at the sky with total disinterest while the incubus goes at her neck, unaware of what’s happening. It gets yanked back by some invisible force, yelping with surprise, and Stiles throws out his hand a moment later, when Corey and Mason reappear. The incubus doesn’t notice that it’s surrounded by mountain ash until it tries to launch itself from the ground at Lydia and hits the barrier.

 

“Fuck you,” it snarls.

 

“Those are some nice last words,” Stiles replies, and steps into the circle. He has a knife in its throat before it can do anything else, and in a moment it lies in a crumpled heap on the ground.

 

“It’s Mason’s turn to be bait next time,” Lydia says in the silence that follows.

 

Mason makes a face, but doesn’t protest.

 

Malia grabs Scott’s hand and pulls him back inside, followed by Mason and Corey and, after a moment’s hesitation, Lydia. Liam is lifting the body and taking it elsewhere, presumably to burn it. And Derek has a hand on his shoulder now and is crowding in close, nose nudging against his own, and Stiles has to shake his head.

 

“No.”

 

He walks to his car and drives away without looking back again.

 

**

 

“You need to come to the hospital.” It’s Jordan Parrish’s voice on the other end of the line instead of his dad’s, and Stiles is out the door in thirty seconds flat and driving down the street in another fifteen. He doesn’t remember the drive, just the panic and the sudden pain in his shoulder when he bursts in through the hospital doors so hard that they smack against the walls and fly back against him. He hardly even notices. “Where’s my dad?” he demands of the first nurse he sees.

 

“I don’t—” she stutters.

 

“My dad!” Stiles yells. “Sheriff Stilinski, where is he?”

 

“Stiles!”

 

It’s Melissa and he falls into her arms without a second thought. The tears are coming now, and he just barely manages, “What happened?”

 

“Come with me,” she says, calm, and leads him down the hall and out of earshot of everyone else. She cups his face in her hands and gently makes him look at her. “He’s going to be okay,” she tells him. “Okay? Say that.”

 

“He’s going to be okay,” Stiles repeats immediately. “But _what happened_?”

 

“His leg is broken in two places, there are some lacerations across his ribcage and stomach but nothing vital was hit. He was clawed across the face but, again, nothing vital got hit.” She looks grim. “Parrish is already telling people it was a nasty encounter with a wolf.”

 

“There are no wolves in California,” Stiles latches onto so that he doesn’t have to think about his dad being injured.

 

“A woman downtown called about strange noises coming from her neighbor’s, lots of howling and the like. Someone keeping a wolf in captivity is the best way to explain it.”

 

“A werewolf attacked my dad?”

 

Melissa shakes her head worriedly. “According to Parrish, there was a hunter and the werewolf was chained up. Your dad…well, he didn’t take well to that.”

 

“But why did the werewolf hurt _him_?”

 

“Honey, I don’t know,” she says unhappily, “but if you want to see your dad before he has to get his leg reset then we need to go now. They need to put him under for it.”

 

Stiles nods numbly, following her through the hospital to his dad’s room. “I don’t think it was his fault,” the sheriff says the moment Stiles comes in. The doctor in the corner raises an eyebrow, but Stiles ignores her because he knows what his dad means. The werewolf didn’t mean to hurt anyone.

 

“You know about the animal attacks, Dad.” He takes the offered hand and squeezes it. “You’ve got to be more careful.”

 

“Usually the attacks don’t come from inside tiny apartments,” his dad says drily. He has blood crusting his face, but they’ve already stitched the cut running from the bridge of his nose to his temple. Stiles assumes they’ve done the same with his side underneath the clean white bandages. There’s going to be a few scars when all is said and done, and Stiles hates that. Let the supernatural mar his body, but not his dad’s. Never his dad.

 

“Listen, I don’t want you to stay here tonight,” the sheriff adds. Stiles wants to protest, but his dad goes on. “Come back in the morning, okay? Besides, you’re probably going to have to stay with me for a little while until I’m back on my feet.” Stiles smiles a little bit at the face his father makes because of that, but the knot of worry is still tight in his chest.

 

“I don’t like leaving you alone.” _Someone needs to protect you._

“I’m not alone,” Sheriff Stilinski says easily. “I’m surrounded by all these doctors and nurses. Melissa will call you if there’s anything, you know that.”

 

Stiles nods once, and then kisses his dad’s forehead right where the cut ends. “His Jell-O better be sugar free,” he tells the doctor before he leaves. He hugs Melissa once out in the hallway and hurries out before he loses the will to do so.

 

Derek is leaning up against his car. “Parrish called me.”

 

“Dad’s gonna be okay,” Stiles informs him. “He told me he doesn’t think the werewolf meant to hurt him.”

 

“We’ve got her somewhere safe,” Derek assures him. “The hunter is in jail, so we’re good for the moment. I figured you would want to come and talk to her.”

 

Stiles slides into the passenger seat wordlessly, knowing that Derek won’t let him drive like this. His hands are starting to shake now that the adrenaline is leaving his veins, and he’s all too aware of the tearstains on his cheeks and how his hair is sticking up from him gripping it too tightly. “If she had hurt him any worse I would kill her.”

 

Derek reached over the console and took his hand, forcing it open so he could fit his fingers in between Stiles’. “Your dad said it wasn’t her fault.”

 

“Not the were,” Stiles clarified, “the hunter.”

 

Derek glanced sideways at him. “How do you know it’s a she?”

 

“I have a feeling.”

 

Derek squeezes his hand once and drives them out of town, toward the Hale house. Stiles wants to pull away because it feels too good to hold Derek’s hand like this, but that’s the problem. It feels _good_ and natural and grounding right now when his head is spinning and he knows his father is going into surgery at any moment. So he holds on until they pull up to the clearing where the house used to be, and then he lets go and doesn’t touch Derek again until they’re in the tunnels underneath it.

 

She’s fully shifted, fangs bared, eyes shining golden and wild through the tangled mat of hair hanging in front of her face. She isn’t chained, just circled in mountain ash, but Stiles still doesn’t want to get too close to her. Scott is standing at the other end of the room, eyes glowing red, staring her down. “Your dad?” he asks Stiles without looking at him.

 

“He’s okay.” With Derek so close to his back that he can feel the heat radiating off him, Stiles steps forward until he’s only a couple of feet and the ash line away from the werewolf. “Can you speak?” he says to her quietly.

 

She growls low in her throat, but there’s a glint of something in her eyes that wasn’t there before. She shakes her head and her hair falls back behind her shoulders so he can see her face, and he winces. She’s covered in burn marks. Derek huffs out a breath behind him.

 

“Do you understand me?”

 

She nods.

 

“Do you have a pack?”

 

Nod.

  
“Did the hunter take you from them?”

 

Nod.

 

“Did she do something to you?”

 

Nod.

 

“Will it wear off?”

 

Nod. The werewolf is standing up straight now, staring right at him, but she’s still fully wolfed out and showing no signs of being able to turn human again. “How long?” Stiles asks. She snarls in frustration, staring down at her hands as she uncurls her fingers. Blood drips from her palms where she was digging her claws into them, but she holds up eight fingers. “Hours?”

 

She nods.

 

Stiles takes a deep breath. “Did you mean to hurt the sheriff?”

 

She opens her mouth and shakes her head. “Freed me,” she hisses out between her fangs. “Don’t have control.” It’s clearly difficult for her to say it, but she manages, and all Stiles has to do is look at her eyes to know it’s true.

 

Stiles feels relief run through him at the words. “You’re safe here,” he tells her softly. “We’ll let you out of the mountain ash circle when you can control your shift again, but for now this is probably safest. Scott will stay with you. You can tell us more when you’re better, okay?”

  
She nods, the same relief reflected back at him. Stiles tries to smile but he can’t, and he leaves the room before his knees give out on him.

 

Derek follows him out, staying close in case he needs to be caught. Stiles hates that, hates that he feels so weak right now, and he can feel tears threatening again so he whirls around when the moonlight hits his face and pushes into Derek’s space so he can kiss him _hard._

 

Derek reacts immediately, cupping his face so gently and Stiles can’t take that from him. “Fuck me,” he gasps out, biting Derek’s neck in the hopes that he’ll get a rise out of him. “Come on, you said we should. _Fuck me_.”

 

But Derek is still just _holding_ him, an arm around his back and the other hand stroking his cheek, pulling him back up to press one, two, three soft kisses to Stiles’ lips, and then one more on the corner of his mouth before pulling back. “Not like this,” he whispers into the space between them, and Stiles sobs. “Come here.” Derek uses the hand on his neck to gently tuck Stiles’ nose into his shoulder and he just stands there with his arms around Stiles while Stiles falls apart. “I don’t want it to be like this,” Derek murmurs, but Stiles isn’t listening anymore. He’s just falling apart at the seams.

 

**

 

After all is said and done, Chris Argent temporarily moves in with the sheriff. “I can protect him,” he tells Stiles when he tries to say he should do it instead. “I work from home anyway, I can be here full time to take care of him.”

 

The werewolf, Abigail, could partially control the shift eight hours later like she had said, but her claws were still out and she clenched her jaw between sentences as though her fangs were itching. “It still hurts,” she informed them. “You shouldn’t let me out of the circle yet.” It took some convincing, but she allowed Scott and Malia to hold her back while he broke the circle and Derek put a mattress and blankets down for her. She twitched when Stiles got a little too close and Malia growled in warning, but in five minutes Abigail was safely in the circle again, sitting on the mattress with a quilt wrapped around her shoulders. She looked exhausted.

 

“You should sleep, heal,” Derek said, surprisingly gentle.

 

“The hunter isn’t alone,” Abigail protested around her fangs, which had finally dropped, but she was swaying back and forth like she couldn’t quite keep it together. “There will be more here soon. They would have called her by now, they’ll know something’s wrong.”

 

“We’ve got some time,” Stiles assured her. “For now, you need rest. Sleep for as long as you like; maybe it’ll help whatever she gave you leave your system.”

 

“It was a wolfsbane mixture.” Abigail’s eyes were closing and she laid back, curling up in a ball. “Designed to enhance the wolf side of me. It…” she yawned. “It can only be done to bitten wolves, since…”

 

“There’s still a line of separation there,” Derek finished for her. “Right?”

 

She nodded, burying her head in the pillow, and moments later she was asleep.

 

Stiles sort of wished now that he hadn’t let her fall asleep without telling them more now, because the hunters appeared much quicker than expected. He had to throw his bat away because the mountain ash is useless against humans and he can’t get close enough to hit them without getting himself shot. Instead, he uses what little magic he has (the spark was just that: a spark, and not very strong) to coax the underbrush into curling around their ankles, sending them to the ground. Corey and Mason appear from nowhere each time so that Mason can bind their hands and feet, but blood is still being drawn when the hunters get too close to one of the werewolves. Derek promised not to hurt them unless he had to, and he isn’t, but there’s someone lying against a tree nearby from where Derek had thrown him. There’s blood trickling down his neck from behind his ear.

 

Stiles is so focused on the plants that he misses the hunter that takes aim at him. He looks up when Derek roars, sees the gun pointed from across the clearing, and does…nothing. He’s holding a hunter down while Mason does his thing and he can’t let go. Derek rams into the woman and a shot goes off. Stiles’ side explodes with pain and he falls backward. He can hear Derek going berserk, but he’s too busy pressing his hand to his ribs and feeling around for the bullet despite the pain screaming through him. When it becomes clear that it wasn’t a direct hit, that it grazed him on its way by, Stiles lets his fingers drop and closes his eyes.

 

He wakes up to the world rocking back and forth. “I’m going to throw up,” he announces, and he’s carefully maneuvered to his feet, then his knees so he can bend over and vomit into a bush. There’s a hand at the back of his neck, massaging the skin gently until he finishes, and then he’s lifted back up again. “I got shot in the side, not the leg,” he grumbles.

 

“You said that ten minutes ago,” Derek answers. “Then you fell on your face and a stick nearly went through your eye. I decided not to risk it.”

 

Stiles goes to cross his arms over his chest, but one is thrown around Derek’s neck and the other is still tucked between them over the wound. He awkwardly lets his free hand drop onto Derek’s shoulder again. “I’m not a Disney princess.”

 

“Of course not.”

 

Stiles is still bleeding sluggishly when they make it to a first aid kit, but gauze and a thick bandage is about all that’s really needed to make it stop. “It shouldn’t take more than a few days,” Derek says quietly, examining it closely before closing the bandage. “Just don’t strain yourself. That means magic too.”

 

“I’ve exhausted magic for the moment,” Stiles answers honestly, and Derek’s looking up at him with sad eyes, still kneeling between Stiles’ legs. Stiles doesn’t like what the attention does to his dick (or his heart, for that matter) so he pushes Derek away. Or, tries to, because Derek just gets up on his knees and presses his lips to Stiles’ _so fucking gently_ , like he had just days ago when Stiles made an idiot of himself. Stiles leans into it for a moment, lets Derek kiss him, and then he pulls away. Derek’s brow is furrowed unhappily. “You don’t have to do this,” Stiles sighs against his mouth.

 

“I know that.” Derek touches their foreheads together. “Just…just let me.” He kisses Stiles again, and really, what is he supposed to do but kiss back? Stiles is hurt, he’s tired, and he _wants_ so damn badly. It’s not like it can possibly feel any worse anyways, and at least now he’ll know what it is that he keeps putting a stop to.

 

He puts a hand on Derek’s shoulder and crowds forward, pushing himself off the chair into Derek’s lap. Derek takes his weight with a startled noise, but wraps an arm around Stiles all the same. They stay there, kissing, for a long time. Or not. Stiles isn’t really great with the telling time thing right now, not when Derek is cradling his face with one hand and still touching him _so damn gently_. Stiles needs something harder than that, or he isn’t going to be able to convince himself that this doesn’t mean anything. When Derek pulls back to breathe for a moment, Stiles bites his lip and tugs. There’s a surprised moan, fingers clenching on the back of his neck, and then Derek is easing back, looking at him with pupils blown wide. “Stiles—”

 

“Shut up.” Stiles tries to kiss him again, but Derek is holding him firmly back now, the hand on his neck going to his chest and applying gentle pressure. Stiles pushes back and his side twinges painfully.

 

“ _Stop_.” Derek’s looking at him with that expression again. “You’re hurt, Stiles, we can’t do this now.”

 

“That bullet barely even _grazed_ me.”

 

“It doesn’t matter, you still need to rest, to heal.”

 

And that’s it. Stiles has officially had enough. “You _wanted_ this! You’ve been looking at me for _months,_ you wouldn’t stop, you kept touching me at the bar—”

 

Derek rears back like he’s been slapped, even as his fingers tighten on Stiles’ hip. “Stiles, I’m not going to do anything to you when you just got shot! Who the hell do you think I am?”

 

“Then why are you doing this?” Stiles demands. “Why are you taking care of me, why are you kissing me? What the fuck is the point if it isn’t just to get what you want?” His voice breaks on the last word and god, he hates himself for that, he hates Derek for making him feel like this, he hates—

 

“You think I’m doing all of this just to fuck you?” And Jesus Christ, even when he’s yelling at Stiles he’s still easing him back off of his lap – and why was he even still there? – and helping him to his feet.

 

“Why else would you do it?”

 

And that’s what makes Derek’s face shutter. He blinks wildly for a few seconds, looking for all the world like he might start crying, and Stiles just doesn’t understand _why_. “Why else would I—” Derek cuts himself off, visibly biting his tongue. “You really have to ask me that?”

 

Stiles opens his mouth, but Derek barrels over him. “I don’t fucking know, Stiles, maybe because you’re part of my pack? My _family_? Maybe because that’s what we do, you and me, we save each other’s lives and then we patch each other up and stay with each other to make sure nothing goes wrong, even though you _know_ nothing’s going to go wrong because I’m a goddamn werewolf! For fuck’s sake, Stiles, I trust you more than I trust anyone in the whole world!”

 

Stiles breathes in deep and says, “If you don’t want to have sex with me, then why did you just kiss me?”

 

Derek shrugs helplessly, running a hand through his hair. “Because I wanted to. Because _you_ wanted to. I don’t _know_ , Stiles, what do you want me to say?”

 

It hits Stiles like a punch in the gut. _I don’t know._ “I don’t want you to say anything,” he sighs, taking a step back and ignoring his side when it twinges. “I want to go home.” He can’t look at Derek anymore, not when the man is trying so hard to hide his feelings and utterly failing. He looks ripped open, confused, and like he’s seconds away from reaching out to Stiles again, and Stiles can’t keep standing here in the same room with him.

 

“You need someone to watch you,” Derek protests quietly, but it’s halfhearted at best. “That’s why I – I figured I could just keep an eye on you here.”

 

“Take me home,” Stiles repeats. “Please.”

 

The drive is completely silent but for their breathing, and it isn’t until Stiles is halfway out of the car that Derek speaks up. “You lied when you said you didn’t want me to say anything,” he mutters, so quietly that Stiles barely catches it. He looks around and finds Derek’s eyes. “Why?”

 

He isn’t asking Stiles what it is, he’s asking _why_ , and that’s what makes Stiles answer instead of just walking away. “Because it’s not something I can ask of you.” He closes the car door before Derek can say anything and goes into his apartment. Derek watches him the whole way, he feels it.

 

He doesn’t look back.

 

**

 

“Derek’s miserable,” Lydia announces, breezing right through the door like she owns the place.

 

Stiles ignores her, staring at the ceiling and shifting further into the couch like it could swallow him whole. He should probably flip onto his stomach for that, he thinks vaguely. Then he’d have a better chance of suffocating and his heart wouldn’t have to hurt anymore because it wouldn’t be beating anyways.

 

“He wolfed out on Liam this morning when he tried to bring him breakfast, Stiles,” Lydia continues, and he hears the clack of her heels stopping in front of him. “ _Liam_.” Stiles knows why she sounds so scandalized by the image; Liam is more of a puppy dog than Isaac ever was. It’s a feat that Stiles hadn’t believed in until Liam ninja-lacrossed into their lives and was bitten by Scott. “I don’t know what you said to him, but you need to fix it, you understand me? You’re the one always defending Derek, insisting he has feelings too, so you have to go and apologize or whatever—”

 

“I’m in love with him,” Stiles interrupts her tonelessly.

 

He doesn’t have to look at her to know what her face is doing. It’ll be the same face that Scott made, the open mouth and wide eyes, then furrowed eyebrows as she tries to comprehend it. “With Derek?” she says hesitantly.

 

Stiles nods and counts his heartbeats until she sits on the edge of the couch by his hip. “Stiles…”

 

“Don’t.” His voice is rough and his throat feels tight again like it has for about four days and fifteen hours. He had just achieved total silence within his mind when Lydia arrived and brought everything crashing back. He wants to hate her for it, but who is he kidding. He can’t hate Lydia. He never could.

 

“How long?” she asks softly.

 

Stiles shrugs and closes his eyes. “I don’t know,” he admits. “Since Virginia, maybe.” Since Lydia broke up with him and he retreated back across the country to try his luck again with the FBI. Since Derek showed up a couple months later and just sort of didn’t leave, even when Stiles squared his shoulders and went back to Beacon Hills. Since Derek got an actual apartment in the nice part of town and a job and kept coming over every Tuesday night like he had in Virginia to watch college basketball. Stiles hated basketball. But Derek had brought dinner one night in Virginia and seen the TV before Stiles could change the channel and just…plopped down on the couch and settled in with a blanket thrown over his lap. And Stiles hadn’t been able to tell him.

 

“What happened, Stiles?”

 

Stiles opens up and tells her everything. Tells her about Derek propositioning him months ago, tells her about the night at the club, of his father’s attack last week and trying to fuck the fear away, of Derek patching him up and just _kissing_ him so damn gently and the fight that followed when he couldn’t give Stiles a reason as to why. It all comes pouring out of his mouth until he’s yelling at the ceiling fan above him and still not looking at Lydia, not even when she curls her fingers around his and squeezes. And then the words run out and turn into ugly sobs instead. “Honey,” she whispers, reaches out to run her fingers through his hair, but he can’t handle that and sits up and away before she can touch him.

 

“ _Don’t_ ,” he rasps. “Don’t do that, it’s my own goddamn fault, I’m the one who can’t keep my fucking emotions in check and just let it go. Jesus Christ, Lydia, I had to move across the country to get over you and you never made me think there was a chance until there was. What the hell am I supposed to do? How am I supposed to just look at him and know that I broke everything?” He isn’t making sense, he knows he isn’t, but Lydia is looking at him like _Stiles_ is the one who’s broken. Maybe he is and he’s just too blind to see it. Too stubborn to do anything but keep going because that’s what he does. It’s what he’s always done.

 

It’s one thing he’s always hated. He knows that this isn’t the worst pain he’s ever felt. He remembers how much it hurt when his mom died. He can still feel the shivery ache of guilt that he felt at Allison’s funeral. The awful clench of his stomach when Lydia was explaining to him why they just couldn’t work together. But it’s one thing to remember the feeling, and something else entirely to have it slam into you in the present, real and alive and horrible. He is absolutely certain that the agony he has been cradling to himself because of Derek Hale isn’t the worst thing he’s ever felt. It’s happening _right now_ though, and that’s why he’s curled up with his forehead to his knees, crying so hard he might throw up. He doesn’t even register Lydia’s hand slowly rubbing up and down his back or her hushed voice as she talks to someone on the phone. Why should any of that matter when his insides are twisting like they are?

 

It doesn’t. None of it does.

 

**

 

The only evidence that Stiles had been shot is a tiny spot on his side that is lighter than the rest of him. In a few years, he won’t even remember what put it there. Too many scars on his body to keep count of, and one bullet isn’t worth thinking back on.

 

“I didn’t know,” Derek says when Stiles opens the door. “I didn’t know you were in love with me. I never would have – Stiles, you have to know that I wouldn’t have ever done any of that if I had known.”

 

Stiles leans up against the doorway and stares at Derek’s shoulder. “I know.” Because Derek isn’t like that, never has been. He would never take advantage of someone else’s feelings as a means to an end.

 

“No, you don’t.” Derek looks frustrated, running a hand through his hair. There are shadows under his eyes like he hasn’t slept in days. Stiles can relate.

 

“I really, really do,” Stiles cuts him off, almost moving to touch Derek’s shoulder in reassurance. He stops, hand hovering between them, and knows Derek saw it from the moment he moved, maybe even saw his intention before. He drops his hand to his side and straightens. “You don’t have to do any of this, okay? I don’t need you to let me down gently, you don’t have to apologize. So I appreciate your concern, but you don’t need to be here to make sure I’m okay.”

 

Derek has a hand on the doorframe like he’s afraid Stiles is going to close the door in his face. “You don’t understand, Stiles, it’s not – I care about you. A lot, more than I know how to tell you. Sex isn’t just sex for me, it never has been, and yeah, now it’s a trust thing too, but I wouldn’t ever…I wouldn’t ever ask that of you just because of trust. And I do trust you, more than I have anyone since Laura. But it isn’t like that.”

 

It’s almost more words than he’s ever heard Derek say, but Stiles closes his eyes, shakes his head. “Look, I don’t need the speech, I know. I know all of this, and I appreciate it, but you don’t have to tell me. I don’t need you to explain yourself, Derek.”

 

“I don’t love you,” Derek blurts out, and then his mouth snaps shut and he looks like he wants to die right then and there.

 

And yeah, that’s like a punch in the gut, only instead of a fist it’s a knife, and the knife has barbed wire wrapped around it so that it shreds Stiles’ insides like confetti. “I really, really didn’t need to be told that,” he says as evenly as he can, but it grates past his throat and comes out too rough. “But thanks for clarifying, I guess. Is that all? Because I really don’t need the neighbors to hear me have an emotional breakdown twice in one week. The shower is the only place that doesn’t share a wall with the people on either side of me and I need to get there.”

 

It’s not fair that Derek looks like Stiles is ripping him open with every word. “It isn’t like that, Stiles, I want to, and I think I could, I just don’t know how.” He’s talking too fast, words tripping over themselves. “I haven’t been able to for so long that I forgot _how_ and I just, you don’t get it, I’m trying, I want to—”

 

“Just _stop_ ,” Stiles cuts him off, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “Whatever it is you’re feeling, that’s on you, but don’t – don’t give me hope, because honestly, Derek, I don’t think you could feel that for me. And I know that, I’ve _known_ that.” He laughs mirthlessly, staring up at the sky before fixing his gaze on Derek. “Otherwise you would’ve known how I feel a really long time ago. That’s just it, you hated me, and then you trusted me because you had to, but _I_ came looking for _you_ , the moment I knew where to look. You would never have even looked at me twice if it weren’t for Scott, and you wouldn’t have come back to Beacon Hills if Chris Argent hadn’t told me where you were.”

 

“That’s not true,” Derek protests, stepping forward. “I came back to Beacon Hills when you did, remember? I went to Virginia because you were there, and then I followed you back here. Maybe circumstance threw us together, but Stiles, I’ve been making my own choices since I left in Mexico. _I_ chose to come back and fight in Beacon Hills, _I_ chose to go to Virginia after it all, and I chose to follow you here. I’m not – I’m not saying no, Stiles! I’m telling you that I want to try!”

 

“Well I don’t!” Stiles yells, too loudly, and the curtains twitch in his neighbor’s window. He breathes in deep, raises his eyes to Derek’s, and says, “I don’t want to try, not when you don’t know what you’re feeling, not when you could change your mind. Lydia thought she loved me too, but she was wrong. You think you can get there, but maybe you can’t, and then you’re going to have to look me in the eyes and tell me that you don’t. I can’t do that, okay? And I’m not going to be the one who makes you do it. We deserve better than ‘maybe,’ okay?”

 

Derek shakes his head, takes an aborted step forward, puts a hand on the doorframe and then stops. “Stiles.”

 

“Please just go,” Stiles mutters.  “Please, Derek, just let this go.” His voice is raw, there’s a lump in his throat and a gaping hole in his chest and he needs to shut the door.

 

But Derek _still_ looks like he wants to fight this, still has his hand in the way. “You’re wrong,” he says quietly. About what, Stiles doesn’t get to ask, because that’s when he finally turns away and leaves. Stiles can’t help it, he watches him all the way to his car. After Derek speeds away, Stiles closes and locks the door, lays a barrier of mountain ash across the windowsills, strips and climbs into the shower with the water as hot as it can get.

 

He sits on the floor with the spray beating down on his back and screams.

 

**

 

He isn’t running away across the country again. But Los Angeles is on the other end of the state, far enough that he can breathe, big enough that he can vanish into thin air. He fills out the paperwork for a transfer and pulls as many double shifts as he can while he waits for the news back. Get out of bed, work, lunch in the break room, patrol, crash on his bed and sleep…try to sleep. It’s his routine for two weeks before his father calls him into his office and tells him that he’s been approved.

 

“They want you there next week,” Sheriff Stilinski says, running a hand over his face. And then, “you don’t have to do this.”

 

“It’s better than Virginia, right?” It isn’t funny, especially because Stiles looks so much worse now than he did then. He was younger with Lydia, still growing. Now love is something solidified in himself, and while he always loved too much back then, it’s so much harder now. Distance might not work this time, but by God he’s going to try. “Just don’t tell anyone where I’ve gone, okay?”

 

“They’re your pack, son. They’ll find you no matter what I do.”

 

“It’ll take them longer though.” Stiles got up and hugged his dad hard, trying not to cry.

 

He packs his things, makes arrangements to sublet to one of the local community college kids with too much money. He spends the last night in his old bedroom, eats dinner with his dad. The sheriff tries one more time. “That boy cares more for you than you know. The whole town knows it. He’ll follow you, Stiles, you know he will.”

 

Stiles doesn’t answer.

 

He’s on the highway out of town before dawn has even broken, and even that isn’t enough because there’s a jet-black wolf standing in the middle of the road. “Shit!” he yells, and has to swerve off the road to avoid hitting it. “What the fuck is the matter with you?” he continues as he opens the door and stalks angrily toward it. “Are you just letting people run you over now? Or did you know? _God_ , did my dad tell you?”

 

And Derek shifts back to human right there, right in the middle of the fucking road for the whole world to see. Completely naked, of-fucking-course. “He didn’t have to,” he says calmly as Stiles immediately moves to shove him back behind his car and out of sight. “Your empty apartment and desk at the station was like a flashing neon light. Did you really think you were going to get out of town without telling anyone, Stiles? I’ve been trying to catch you for weeks now but you’ve been working or you had mountain ash up.”

 

“And you didn’t take the fucking hint?” Stiles is angry, furious, and hurting. He chucks a balled-up shirt at Derek from his suitcase. Derek has the grace to let it hit his chest, but he catches the sweats that follow a moment later.

 

“You’re not fucking leaving because of me!” Derek finally explodes. “For God’s sake, have you even considered what this will do to everyone? To Scott, your dad, to _me_?”

 

“They managed before,” Stiles snaps, slamming the door closed and facing him again once he has the clothes on.

 

“They weren’t in Beacon Hills at the time, they were all in college, and I was with you.”

 

“You’re not coming with me.”

“To hell I’m not!” Derek pushes forward, presses his palm to Stiles’ chest and shoves him back. “You think you’re just going to run away, asshole? Did you forget something? I’ve done it before, and it fucking hurts. You go where no one else can find you and you’ll be alone.”

 

“I was alone in Virginia—”

 

“Not for long, and not where the pack couldn’t find you.”

 

“Why do you even care?” Stiles yells. God, are they really doing this? Fighting on the side of the highway with cars going past as dawn breaks?

 

“Because I didn’t realize how much it hurt until I saw you in that warehouse.” Derek looks livid. “How much I missed being recognized by someone who gave a shit about me. I was gone for almost two years and I thought I was done with caring but I saw you and I couldn’t remember why I had done it in the first place. If you leave right now Stiles, you won’t come back, and it’ll hurt. It’ll feel empty, and yeah, you’ll be away from the thing that hurt you, but you’ll be alone. You can’t be alone.”

 

His hand burns through Stiles’ shirt. “I told you I don’t want to do this,” Stiles says as steadily as he can.

 

“You lied. It’s okay. I lied too.”

 

_Don’t ask about what._ “About what?” Stiles asks, because he’s a fucking martyr like that.

 

“About not loving you,” Derek responds, eyes locked on Stiles’. “I already do. It’s not something I have to work for because I love you right now. I think I have for awhile, I just didn’t know what it was because it’s been so long. Forever, maybe. Paige was the last one and I was just a kid.”

 

“Don’t say that to me.” His voice breaks because hope is surging through him and he _can’t._

 

“Stiles, if you get back in that car, I’m going with you,” Derek says. “Clearly I’ve been a complete idiot about all of this, but I’m done with that. I’m not letting you leave, not without me.”

 

Stiles breathes out shakily, tipping his head back to look at the gray sky. “Do you have any idea how cliché you sound right now?”

 

“Yeah, and it’s really, really embarrassing, especially because you _still don’t believe me._ ”

 

Stiles bites back a hysterical laugh, because yeah, he doesn’t know what to think right now, but Derek looks like a drowning man who just found a life preserver. “We can’t do this here,” he says. “We’re on the highway.” They’re on the highway, and the sun’s coming up, and Stiles is so in love with Derek that it’s a physical ache in his chest screaming at him not to get back in the car. God, this is so fucking cliché that he wants to bundle Derek into the car just to get them somewhere less… _sappy._

 

“There’s some woods behind us, would that be better?”

 

“And you expect me to believe that you love me, making jokes like that?”

 

“It’s not a joke,” Derek responds, completely serious. “I’m ready to do anything to get you to believe me so I can just _take you home_ already.” He steps forward until he can press his forehead to Stiles’ and Stiles lets him. “Stiles, _please,_ just…just let me prove it to you.”

 

Stiles screws his eyes shut and breathes out hard. “Damnit, Derek, you better be serious about this. You better be telling me the truth.”

 

“Have I ever lied to you?”

 

“You just said two minutes ago that you lied about not loving me,” Stiles points out.

 

Derek shakes his head, not moving from where his hair is brushing Stiles’ skin. “I was lying to myself too. Doesn’t count.”

 

Stiles breathes out slowly. “Okay, okay, just – get in the car. You’re going to stretch out my shirt and I love that shirt.”

 

“I’m not that much bigger than you,” Derek protests.

 

“The eighty pounds you have on me say otherwise.” Stiles makes himself pull away, get behind the wheel. Derek climbs in a second later and Stiles turns the car around in a move the entire police force would be on his ass about, but he doesn’t care right now. “I’m going to regret this,” he says.

 

“No,” Derek answers, and grabs his hand. “You won’t.”

 

**

 

When the L.A. department calls the next day, Stiles tells them an emergency came up and he needs a few more days.

 

**

 

When the L.A. department calls again a week later, Stiles tells them that he won’t be able to make it. “They need me here,” he explains. He doesn’t tell them who “they” is, because Derek is quick to get him off the phone and on his back. Stiles doesn’t complain, not when Derek kisses him hard, deep and drugging in a way that makes Stiles’ limbs turn to jelly. He kisses back, loops his arms around Derek’s neck and pulls him down.

 

“I love you,” Derek whispers between them, just loud enough for Stiles to hear.

 

“I believe you,” Stiles tells him, and the answering grin he gets is blinding.


End file.
